


Memories

by zephalien



Series: community center paul [10]
Category: Broadchurch
Genre: All the bad stuff is past/canon reference, Daisy is totally safe no one needs to worry about Daisy, Depression, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Relationship(s), M/M, Pedophilia, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-06
Updated: 2020-08-06
Packaged: 2021-03-06 08:07:04
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,377
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25750111
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zephalien/pseuds/zephalien
Summary: Please head the tags. All the bad stuff is references to what's already in the canon, but it is discussed and I wouldn't want anyone to be triggered. Love y'all stay safe.
Relationships: Paul Coates/Alec Hardy
Series: community center paul [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1598026
Comments: 3
Kudos: 24





	Memories

It's nearly 3 months before Hardy finds himself in the presence of Broadchurch's local insomniac ex vicar again. It catches him off guard. He wasn't expecting Paul to be here in the newspaper shop. It makes Hardy have an ugly flashback to interrogating Jack Marshall here one afternoon.

He shakes his head and in Jack's place is Paul with his head down on the counter presumably asleep.

He pokes Paul gently on the shoulder. "Y'alright?"   


Paul lets out a sound halfway between a groan and a sigh and doesn't pick up his head. "Paul." Hardy pokes him again. "Paul. You dead?"   
  
Paul sighs audibly from where his head is buried in his arms. "Yes." He deadpans.   
  
"Should I file a report or was it natural causes?" Hardy says casually. The store looks grimier than usual. He had heard the place got bought out by a local businessman after Jack's death, but he's not sure why Paul is here now.    
  
"Natural causes." Paul responds, pulling himself upright and looking at Hardy. He has no reaction to Hardy standing in front of him and instead just asks, "How can I help you?"

  
Hardy cocks an eyebrow and looks at Paul appraisingly, "Are you serious?"   
  
The face Paul makes is equal parts scathing and humiliated and it makes Hardy regret his reaction immediately. "I work here." Paul states the obvious for Hardy despite looking like he wants to crawl into a hole. 

Hardy swallows a few times. "I came to get a paper."   
  
"It's a newspaper shop." Paul replies. He seems to be trying to will himself into another reality and Hardy cocks a smile against his better judgement. The tension is making him feel a bit loopy. "What are you laughing for?"   
  
He hadn't been laughing and the accusation makes him chuckle and he smiles widely, "It's a newspaper shop. I'm glad to see you. Can't I be glad?"   
  
Paul makes a confused sour face. "What, no?"   
  
Hardy laughs loudly, a sputtering jolt of sound in the small shop and tries to take a deep breath to calm himself. Paul is watching him suspiciously though his lips crack into a small smile. "Stop laughing. You look mad." Paul tells him.    
  
"Maybe I am mad." Hardy gasps and then settles with a few more giggles. Abruptly, before he has time to decide against it, he says, "You look like shit. Come for dinner."   
  
Paul's surprise is obvious. He sputters, "Dinner? With who? With you? Now I know you really have lost it. What'd you want to do dinner for?"   
  
Hardy just smiles sarcastically, "Don't be rude. It's what people do."   
  
Paul huffs and attempts to stare down the man in front of him who has so clearly lost his marbles. "Fine, I'll go to dinner, but I'm not selling you a paper."   
  
"Fine, I'll pay you back in food tonight. See you at 7." Hardy smiles and waves the paper he's pinched from the shop as he beats a hasty escape. Paul is calling after him, probably trying to get him to pay for the paper.    
  


~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Are we converting?" Daisy asks without looking up from her switch while Hardy drags the loveseat into a more aesthetically pleasing location in the living room instead of a little too close to the tv because he hates watching tv with his glasses on.    
  
"What? No?" Hardy responds while simultaneously fluffing the cushions. 

"Then why are you redecorating?" She asks. She does look up now. Her mouth is curved in an accusing grin. 

He stands partway up and puts his hands on his knees to catch his breath while assessing the living room. "I'm not redecorating. I'm cleaning like people do when they have guests." He puffs out indignantly. 

She just cocks her eyebrow at him in a good imitation of the man himself and then swings her legs up and escapes the room before Hardy starts dragging the couch out from under her. "Sure, dad."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  
  
He's not going to have time to go home and change before it's time for dinner. Paul curses under his breath at agreeing to it as he does the last of the inventory. Hauling around newspapers and stock in the tiny back room always makes him feel squished and overheated. One of the boxes he shoves into the back corner isn't actually getting pressed nicely against the wall like he wants it to be. He blows out a breath that makes his bangs fall away from his face in a rush of air. It's a tight squeeze but he makes his way sideways around to the wall and peers down at whatever is stuck back there. It's a small metal box that Paul is sure he has never seen before. He pushes the bigger box away and fishes it out. 

**J Marshall** is scratched into the tin of the box. He stares at the scratched up little thing for a while processing. 

It feels wrong to look, but he doesn't know what else to do with the thing. It's not locked and it creaks open with a guilty squeak. Inside, Paul finds many pieces of paper creased with wear and age. How long has this been here? Since he died? Before? Paul feels suddenly dizzy at the idea of Jack stuffing his secrets away back here only for them to become unintentionally abandoned.    
  
It's like he is compelled. There's nothing to do but open the top most piece of paper. 

It's a letter from court. The date is from 1987. The letter in stark black ink on worn paper proclaims that Jack Marshall is now divorced from Cynthia Marshall. There are a few directions and legalese, but that's the essence of it.    
  
Directly underneath that letter was a wedding photo. It showed Jack Marshall and Cynthia in full wedding attire both grinning. He can't help but be stricken by the sight of the beautiful young girl in the photo. She is just a girl. He can't ignore the way Jack's hairline has already begun receding as he stands in stark contrast to the young woman next to him. The year 1982 is printed in beautiful golden ink in the bottom right corner of the photograph. Jack had told him that they waited to be married until he was out of prison, but this was just a child. 

  
Paul's mind flashed with visceral memories of his confrontation with Alec and the fury he had felt at Alec's apparent refusal to protect Jack Marshall. Who had protected her? Just as suddenly, he could almost feel the dark pit in his belly opening to swallow him up as he saw the calm eyes of Joe Miller in his mind's eye. 

_ " I thought you were on my side." _

The words still haunt him, but their full meaning hadn't been clear to him until now. Joe didn't think that Paul simply sympathized or forgave. 

He thought Paul was _the same_ as him. 

The thought makes Paul feel suddenly and violently ill. He looks up to find himself sitting on the floor in the back room of Jack Marshall's old newspaper shop cramped in a corner with the box of old memorabilia in front of him. The photo sits in front of him accusing. She was just a girl. She was so young. Danny was so young.    
  
He is going to fucking throw up. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"You've been staring out the window for ages, dad." Daisy says behind him. 

Hardy folds his arms and wrinkles his brow before turning from the window. "Maybe he's been in an accident."    
  
Daisy looks at her plate then down at the floor before sighing. "Dad…"   
  
"Oh, come now. We don't have to do this. I'm a grown man. Just…" He sighs at the embarrassment of having been stood up by the former preacher in front of his teenage daughter. "Just get the ice cream and that stuff Miller bought me. We are watching Dial M for Murder again and you don't get to complain."   
  
She smiles kindly at him and kisses him softly on the cheek before exiting the room. He turns back to his brooding and staring out the window for another few minutes until he hears the tv start up and goes to spend time with his daughter. 


End file.
